Support Your Local SFA
by binkeybella
Summary: Eternal goof off and prodigal son Tony has joined a men's support group. What does this say about his maturity level, and more importantly, the NON-support from his friend and mentor Gibbs? Series of one-shots regarding Tony's experience in the group. Spoilers for the ep. 'Alibi' and perhaps others as the season continues. No slash, no ships. Rated T for language. Tony-centric.
1. Chapter 1

_**What a hoot! Tony easily and happily admitting to Tim that he has joined a men's support group.**_

_**Poor McGee doesn't quite know what to make of Tony anymore. Well...not that he ever did...**_

What. The. Hell. Had Tony just told him he had joined a men's support group? And had he just told him willingly, and casually, too? Like it was no big deal, nothing to hide, _proud of himself for doing it?_

McGee was glad Tony was driving, because it was always a little disconcerting to drive in beltway traffic with the earth tilting on its axis.

Maybe it was a another practical joke, like the plastic-wrapped desk and computer that Tony swore he had nothing to do with. If it was, it was pretty elaborate, getting some guy to come up to him seemingly randomly and start talking about it. Wasn't a men's support group tantamount to going to a shrink? Or worse, spilling your guts to not just one stranger, but several at a time? No _way _was _he _going to be caught doing any such thing.

Maybe Tony had finally lost it. Maybe Ziva's leaving had been the push that sent the guy over the edge. They all knew their SFA battled demons; some of them, Tim surmised, were merely a figment of Tony's over-active imagination which bent seriously towards the over- dramatic. But a support group? Tony? _Wait till Gibbs hears about this, _Tim mused to himself as they made their way back to the Navy Yard. Wait. Maybe Gibbs already knew. Maybe he had _ordered _Tony to join, growing tired and irritated over his SFA's recent odd behavior, but then, Gibbs never seemed to really tire of _any _of Tony's behavior. The man either had blinders on or was a masochist, McGee had never been quite sure. He certainly couldn't have actually enjoyed it all these years...

Tony wove casually in and out of the busy traffic, seemingly in no hurry to get back to, well, anywhere. He wore just the hint of a smile as he drove, and his eyes copied that emotion, but were hidden behind his sunglasses. He could practically hear McGee's brain wheels grinding away, thinking and rethinking all of the cotangents and square roots and ratios and odds of Tony DiNozzo willingly offering himself up for dissection and dissertation by a bunch of other men. It wasn't manly, it just wasn't _done _in their part of the world! There were secrets to be kept, emotions to be held in check, reality to be maintained.

Tony, of all people, understood that.

But Tony's world was growing smaller and less defined than he could ever remember, and it was getting so he couldn't find himself in it anymore. When he had been a young beat cop, his focus and drive had been work, women, and wine, in that order. He'd had gobs of energy, next to no health issues, and everything seemed clear and relatively simple – he was a cop, cops chased bad guys, bad guys for the most part got caught and punished, and on it went, the adrenalin rush of youth and police work seemingly bottomless. Then he had been stood up by a fiance and pulled down by a crooked partner, and his world had started to fray again around the edges, something that hadn't seriously started to happen since he'd been toted off to military school. Gibbs had come along right then, and offered him a fresh start in D.C., and he had a focus again, and someone to help him channel the nervous energy his latent anger and frustration caused into something positive again.

It had been rough adapting at first, not just to Gibbs' unorthodox ways, but to having more than one partner on a team. Vivian Blackadder had resented him with an undisguised passion, and then been kicked off the team herself, leaving them back to a well-oiled two man team. Pressured into adding another member by then Director Tom Morrow, Gibbs had offered a position on the team to Kate, and Tony was back to being on defense against a team member bent on proving herself more competent than any male Gibbs could have picked, including, or maybe especially Tony. When she had been killed, there had been little time to grieve and think things through, which Tony figured was probably a good thing at the time.

Now he wasn't so sure about that, and now after Ziva's abrupt departure and the myriad of emotions that had raged through him regarding just what his relationship was with her, he knew he didn't have it in him to go another ten years with those issues unresolved. He just wasn't strong enough anymore. His past losses, along with what little actual support he had availed himself to, had made him brittle, and he knew he had miles to go before he had the luxury of not caring who thought what about him. He had a job to do, a serious one, and couldn't afford to be falling apart at the seams; he already had a reputation as being a bit of a flake, which had served him well with suspects but usually not with anyone else, except perhaps Jethro Gibbs.

It had been Tobias Fornell of all people who had recommended the group to him, although the man himself had never admitted to participating in any such thing. Tony hadn't pressed him, he hadn't really cared how Fornell battled his demons, or if he even bothered anymore. He suspected the Fibbie was a lot like Gibbs and had just learned to slay them better, or at least compartmentalize them differently than Tony did. Much as he admired both of the older men, Tony knew he was different from them, in ways that sometimes embarrassed him. Why those ways embarrassed him, he wasn't sure, but he needed to find out before it made him totally crazy and do something he couldn't take back.

Hanging out with a bunch of guys was as natural to Tony as breathing – well, before he'd gotten the pneumonic plague years back – but dredging up emotions and a painful past with them was as foreign an idea to him as Gibbs joining a quilting guild. It just wasn't in his DNA to spill his guts with anyone, not even Gibbs. He had wanted to on plenty of occasions, but the man had too often made it clear to him that work was business, and home was private. There had been lots of cowboy steak dinners and a few less than sober crashes in Gibbs' guest bedroom, but not much of a chance to really spill about things that bothered him outside of their last case. When he had tried, Gibbs had been so quiet and closed off that Tony had taken the hint and given up. The man just didn't want to deal with someone else's angsts. Tony was pretty sure it was because Gibbs could barely deal with his own train wreck of emotions, he was certainly not prepared to advise someone else about theirs. On the times that he had actually offered his thoughts, he had been gruff and impatient, as if Tony should already know the answers to his problems, so the younger man had clammed up and stopped bothering him about them. It made for better energy between them, and the last thing Tony needed anymore was tension between partners.

Before he walked into his first meeting, Tony had convinced himself it was no different than the years he'd shared rooms at boarding school, or a dorm with frat brothers, or a locker room with sports team mates. He knew he had forgotten that sort of comradery during his years in police precincts and now a federal agency. Fellow officers had mistrusted him and flat out mocked him for his pretty boy looks and ties to big family money, and he had soon learned to keep to himself and just do his job, as many hours as it took. He wasn't new to hazing, he had gotten more than his share in boarding school, and had been ill prepared to deal with it back then, but now he really needed to watch his back, where the hazing could easily turn to hate and viciousness in a world that often closed ranks even around a dirty cop. He was always the new kid on the block, and not only that, a bit of a precocious upstart with his innate problem-solving skills, which led to inevitable resentment whenever he shook up the status quo.

_FLASHBACK_

_Once inside the doors, he had been surprised to find several guys already involved in activities – a game of two on two basketball was raging down at the end of the rec hall, and in another section, tables were set up for card and board games. Drinks and snacks were laid out on a long table to the side, and beyond that, a circle of chairs. A man watched him from a distance, waiting for him to get his bearings before approaching him. Tony knew he was there, could sense his eyes on him, but didn't get that prickly feeling he often felt when he was being surveilled by a suspect. Or Gibbs. Tony relaxed, liking the vibes he was getting so far, and feeling comfortable enough to keep checking things out. He hoped there was no one there he knew, but then again, maybe that would be a good thing, after all, neither one would rat on the other without blowing their own cover._

_None of the faces were familiar, so he waited, hands in pockets, watching the current members and wondering what he was in for. He saw the man who'd been watching him approach from the side, and turned to greet him. _

"_Hi, my name is Chris, I'm the founder and moderator, come on in and get comfortable, the meeting starts in just a few minutes. Go find something to munch on and a drink, then grab a chair in the circle. And remember – this isn't therapy, no one's going to press you to spill your guts about your last divorce or your abusive parents or anything. Some guys talk about that stuff, and we listen, and if they ask for advice, we try to give it. Other guys talk about problems they have at work, or issues with their wives or kids or something, more of a problem-solving situation than just spewing your emotions. It's whatever you need it to be, we don't judge anyone, and no one gets to talk about what goes on here outside of here, it's confidential."_

"Ahh. Sort of like the Loyal order of the Masons or something like that, hunh? By the way, my name is Tony."

Chris laughed, and squeezed Tony's shoulder.

"_Well, yeah, I suppose so, but no robes, and no hierachy, we're all equals here, it's a support group, not a fraternity."_

"Okay, well, it sounds...good. It really does, Chris, thanks for having me."

"You're welcome, Tony. I hope it's a good fit for you."

END FLASHBACK

No one had more surprised than Tony to find he had really enjoyed himself, being able to talk to someone other than a boss who replied in grunts and growls, and a team mate who huffed and rolled his eyes when Tony couldn't explain his thoughts in a way that McGee could understand. It wasn't either of the other men's faults, really – Gibbs had been a functional mute before Tony had ever met him, and he shouldn't have expected the man to change his spots just for him, and McGee was a much more black and white sort of guy, and had his on-line gaming friends to blow off steam with.

Besides, McGee seemed to be content where he was, learning more and more with each case, each month that went by, adding to his skills and hopeful climb up the ranks of the agency. He was still young enough, and not so jaded, to be able to roll with the flow a bit easier, although his constant amazement and disbelief at Tony's new behavior was making that a bit difficult to swallow right now.

Well, it didn't really matter what McGee thought or believed right now, as long as the man had Tony's back in the field, which Tony was sure of (well, mostly, anyways). Yet another issue he needed to talk about at the next meeting. He found himself not only looking forward to them now, but anxious to participate. That first meeting had been like a big weight lifted off his shoulders, being able to lay down some of his fears and burdens about what it was like for him on the job.

He hadn't elaborated about where he worked, just that it could be dangerous on a daily basis and how much stress he carried because of it. And it turned out he wasn't the only law enforcement person there, there were two others that told him about their jobs as Metro Cops, and another who alluded to a highly secret job, which could have been any number of agencies in the D.C area. He found himself wishing he had sought out a group like this years ago; it may have prevented him from doing some things that he looked back on with overwhelming regret now. But at least he had started now, and it felt like a new lease on life, or at least a compass to help him find it. So he wasn't at all prepared when Gibbs had countered him in the men's room, which had reminded him a lot of a petite ex-Mossad agent who had no qualms about cornering him in there for an interrogation. His boss's face was a mix of anger and confusion, topped with what Tony was certain was a tinge of hurt. Well, this was one of the very reasons he had joined the support group in the first place. The question was, did one meeting empower Tony enough to stand up to the grizzly trying to back him into the corner?


	2. Chapter 2

_**I don't know if I'm anywhere close to describing a men's support group, having never been invited to one, but I'm sure they're all different, some more casual than others. Also, I've started working on the next chapter of Cabin Fever, that will be up in the near future. **_

_***Some reviewers mentioned the fact that Tony telling Tim about his support group is probably one of the usual throwaway lines that the writers so carelessly put in the dialogue and then never go back to. Ever. And yeah, that's probably the case, odds are against us seeing anything worthwhile come from it; sometimes I think the show writers do that just so we fic writers will have yet more plot bunnies to chase us around. **_

Tony finished drying his hands on the paper towel as if nothing were amiss; indeed, he was getting used to being followed into the men's room and drilled for information that was usually no one's business but his own. Like this was. He was pretty sure why Gibbs was after him, and why he was angry.

"A _support _group, DiNozzo? You won't see a shrink but you'll go spill to a bunch of strangers?"

Tony sighed and tossed the paper towel in the trash. He was thinking about another support group one of the members in his group was telling him about, where the purpose of the group was to teach the members how to stop being doormats for the world. He'd have to look into that one next.

"I talk to Rachael. And McGee had no business telling you about this."

'Did you _tell _ him to keep it a secret from me, DiNozzo?"

"I didn't tell him anything, Boss, he found out about it by accident. I was kind of hoping he would have the sense, or at least the decency, to keep it between the two of us."

"This AA, Tony?" Gibbs finally asked, in a quieter, but still hard tone.

"No, Boss, this is not AA. Contrary to what some people thought, or maybe even think, I do not have a drinking problem."

"Ziva seemed to think you went a little overboard when you were Agent Afloat."

"Overboard, that's a good one, Boss." Tony chirped, but his eyes were flinty as he crossed his arms. "And much as I shouldn't pick on someone who's not here to defend themselves, she had no business spreading that rumor to anyone, 'cause that's all it was, her assumption of what I did after...Jenny died.

You know as well as I do those ships are dry, and how the hell would I get away with being drunk on one with five thousand other people up my ass 24/7? 'Cause that was the extent of my privacy. You think that if I had even been caught with a whiff of alcohol on my breath on that boat, forty nine hundred of them wouldn't have been on me like white on rice to see me walk the plank?"

Gibbs didn't know what to say. Tony had never actually said too much about what went on during his months as Agent Afloat and Gibbs hadn't asked. It had been a hellish time for all of them, and like so many other difficult times for his teams, Gibbs had always deemed it better – or easier – to go on like it had never happened. No sense in rehashing what couldn't be changed, he figured. Best to just keep forging ahead. He couldn't really feature Tony letting himself get hammered even when he was on dry land, but things had gotten strained between them, none more than the months it had taken Gibbs to convince Vance to let him have his team back.

"Yeah, well, she maybe was a little over dramatic about it." Gibbs conceded.

"Not something you get to spread around about people, Boss. Ruins reputations and careers, she treated it like it was no big deal. It would be like me telling people she'd forged her citizenship papers to get her place on the team. Anyways, you and I both know my only drinking went on at an on-shore bar, and then only a few to relax. This is just what it says, Boss, a men's support group. Hang out with guys, talk about what pisses us off, where we want to be, why we aren't there yet. Stuff like that. Or you don't have to talk about anything, you can just lend a sympathetic ear to someone else."

"Thought that's what _I _did, DiNozzo." Gibbs responded quietly.

Tony almost burst out laughing; it was only his love and respect for the man that kept him from it. Instead he plastered on a half-fake smile that looked half weary, half understanding.

"Can we talk about this somewhere else, Boss, I get kind of tired of bearing my soul in the bathroom."

"We don't have to talk about it at all, DiNozzo, like you say, McGee never should have come to me with it."

"No, he shouldn't have. I think he's upended with all my strange behavior lately, doesn't really know what to make of it. But I can't stay the way you all want me to stay, Boss. It may be a comfort zone for all of you, but for me it's a dead zone. I need to learn how to own my shit and deal with it, not keep stuffing it down year after year."

"Like I do?" Gibbs focused in on him with accusing eyes.

"Boss, we all deal with stuff whatever way we can, the important thing is that we keep functioning. Thing is, I want to do more than function. If all I do is eat and work and sleep and breathe, then there's no point in it for me. I need more. I need – I don't know yet, I just know I have to start looking outside work to find it."

"Alright. I won't bug you about it. Just – don't be asking me to join ya, 'cause it aint gonna happen. Better things to do with my time."

He gave a look to Tony as he left that the younger man couldn't quite interpret, even after all the years of knowing his boss and reading his body language. It was starting to unnerve him a little, not being able to read the man, either now or when he first came into the men's room. His mind started to go into overdrive, frantic to know what the man was thinking, where he stood with him, when it suddenly occurred to him that this was his default setting, just as Gibbs' setting was to mask confusion or worry with anger. He automatically absorbed the information and then analyzed it like McGee did his algorithms, and always came to the conclusion that it was he himself who was lacking, who needed to add more to or take away something from his character. Never enough, or always too much , he could never keep track, never really figure it out, just like growing up with his father. Both men enjoyed yanking his strings, just to see him dance, because they could, because they knew they had that power over him.

It had to stop.

Somewhere he had to find where their impossible standards ended and his lack of self-worth began. Tony knew that Gibbs was pissed, even hurt, that he had felt the need to search farther than Gibbs himself for answers, but it was ridiculous to go to one of the main sources of his angst and then expect to find relief for it there. It would only lead to more anxiety, just as this five minute unresolved conversation had.

He had considered asking Ducky to be his confidant, but the man was notorious for inadvertently letting shared secrets out that were not medical in nature, especially when Gibbs was determined to get the information. And there had been a few times when Ducky had purposely alerted Gibbs to something Tony had let slip in conversation, worried that the younger man may take drastic measures to remedy his problem. Drastic usually meant 'running away to join the FBI' or something along those lines, and Gibbs would drag him somewhere and ply him with surf and turf and expensive scotch, and sweet talk him - strong arm him, really - into seeing the error of his ways, and Tony would step back in line and behave. It had been flattering at first, even heartwarming, to be needed, wanted, but it had started to lose its appeal a long time ago.

Now when it happened, Tony just felt used, like he had twice over when Jen Shepard had convinced him he was the only one good enough to go under cover to help her bring down her abhorred arms dealer Rene Benoit, and then when she had ordered him off her six so she could go out in a blaze of glory instead by way of some insidious disease. She had only thought of herself both times, not considering the damage she was doing by pushing Tony into a relationship that could only end in utter disaster, and then by leaving him looking like an accomplice to her murder by following her orders. It had taken him weeks to be able to look Gibbs straight in the eye, and he'd never truly gotten over feeling the blame for her violent death.

Like a vicious cycle, the more he took, the more his superiors, including Gibbs, seemed to dish out, and Gibbs seemed to be the worst user of all of them over the years. It wasn't just the fact that his boss had taken advantage of Tony's need to be needed and useful that had hurt the younger man – it was more the fact that he had trusted Gibbs _not _to injure his pride and self-worth like that. To just _use _him as a means to an end, like Jen Shepard had, seemingly without any more guilt than she had been bothered with which evidently had been none at all. He knew Gibbs put the job before anything else, but Christ, there were limits, weren't there? And rules? About never screwing over your partner...seems it depended on who your partner was on how hard that rule got followed.

He let out a deep, long breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding and did a quick flight check of how he was going to deal with a partner who had 'outed' him on his support group - the _why _of it just one more reason he needed the group – and dealing with a boss who was obviously going to hold it against him for utilizing one in the first place. Tony knew Gibbs would consider his joining such a group as a sign of weakness, it was the main reason he hadn't said anything to the man about it. Everyone knew now, if McGee knew; the guy couldn't, wouldn't, keep something like that to himself. Obviously. Well, so be it, then. Tony knew there were worse things about himself for people to be privy to. If his co-workers wanted to think less of him for it, he couldn't stop them. He had already started to feel like they were less interested than ever in what he said and did, that was nothing new.

And he had to own up to the fact that he was part of the problem, enabling his team and bosses to manipulate him through his emotions, catching him off guard by reading him better than he read himself. He could shut down, speak only when spoken to, knuckle down and get serious like McGee about the job, but he had tried that before, too, and it had been an abysmal failure. They seemed to not be happy with him either way he behaved, so he had to learn how to be happy with himself.

If that meant using whatever resonated with him as a means to do it, he would, finger pointing and childish teasing be damned. No one could say he wasn't making the effort to improve himself if people were finding him so lacking in so many skills. But the thing was, the most_ important_ thing – was that Tony was doing it for himself, and no one else, not even Gibbs. That in itself was hugely significant. It was the first time in years that he had made such a bold move just because _he wanted _to, not to please his father or headmaster or coach or boss, or even a woman. And it felt good. He felt like he was moving forward for once, not sideways or backwards, or down, as was more often the case. Only time would tell how much it helped him, but he knew he would only get out of it what he put into it. He made his way back to the bullpen with new resolve, and if the conversation moved to his personal life, he would shut it down. Politely, but firmly. After all, he had been told many times over that his team's personal life was none of his business. It was time he returned the favor._  
_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Thank you for all your reviews, favorites and follows: I'm working on the next chap of Cabin Fever, but a funny thing happened that has sort of left me dangling – the actual shows' plot fell apart when Ms. De Pablo decided to exit, so I too lost my way with where I was going to go with the story. I'll figure out how to wrap it up somehow. It may not be flattering to Ziva.**_

_**Also, I guess this fic isn't very flattering to Gibbs or McGee so far, but it's not an intentional bash and things will improve with them all, but who doesn't get tired of Boss Gibbs lecturing Tony and trying to run his personal life and then shutting him out of his own? Not beta'd - all boo boos are mine.**_

Surprisingly, neither Gibbs nor McGee mentioned the 'unmentionable' for the remainder of the workday. They were, however, chillier than usual to him. Well, that was their problem, Tony decided. Just because he had made a choice to man up and do something they considered unmanly didn't make him any less so. It was a lesson he had learned the hard way when he was not even a teenager, but something he had let himself forget over the years.

A very astute camp counselor had pulled him aside one summer afternoon after a traumatic encounter with some less than kind fellow campers, and had taken the time to talk things through with him. What others thought of him was not who he was, she had told him, it was their image of him, their warped view, just as he sometimes had the wrong impression of others. Even though he was gifted with being able to read body language and facial expressions at an early age, he sometimes was overwhelmed with the speed at which he needed to read them all – mostly out of sheer self defense – and at times misread people's intentions for good or bad. Too many people, too much information. He was better with one on one, although he improved as he got older and more confident and experienced.

But he had never forgotten his conversation with her, or her quiet encouragement of him, when she had put that life-changing thought in his head. It wasn't always _him _with the problem or deficiency, it was how the other person was perceiving him. Like Einstein's theory of relativity. It was all relative to the way the person saw their own lives, perceived their own surroundings – it very often had little to do with the person he actually was, and more to do with their personal views and prejudices.

He ran this through his brain again as he plodded through paperwork and agency emails, and it helped him in tuning out the bad vibes he seemed to be getting from Gibbs and McGee. Well, they were his boss and team mate, he was doing his job, not creating any undue stress for McGoo, they had nothing to complain about. Then he remembered another quote that his own mother had enjoyed telling him, from Eleanor Roosevelt, whom she greatly admired. Something along the lines of how 'you would worry a lot less about what people thought of you if you only realized how little they did' – and decided that was an even better course of action. He was getting the feeling that perhaps what he was perceiving as chilliness by them could well be their own self-dialogue about change and talking out the issues that kept them where they were.

He knew that McGee had been able to channel a lot of his angst into his books, but now that they had fallen by the wayside, what other outlet did he have? And Gibbs, well, there was no channeling for that man outside of woodworking and booze, a manly man's way of dealing with what ailed him, if he admitted to anything ailing him in the first place. It had always been Tony coming to him with a problem, admitting to him that he wasn't sure what he was doing at the moment was right. Never Gibbs telling him he'd effed up, made the wrong choice, trusted the wrong source. It wasn't in the man's DNA. But that didn't make it right, or even a good thing. Hell, Gibbs himself had told Tony once in no uncertain terms to learn from the mistakes Gibbs had made, not to repeat them. Tony considered this a learning curve, even if Gibbs wouldn't.

He took a well-earned break to make a few notes in his small personal journal, gathering some of the exploding and wandering thoughts he'd been having since his conversation with Gibbs in the men's room. Just writing them down felt empowering, as if they made more sense and carried more weight seeing them in print. He wouldn't resolve them all in one night, he didn't even think some of them were even resolvable, but he could pretty much bet that the ones with no resolution could at least be made more manageable. What more could he ask for? For this task he knew he was being watched, he could feel the eyes on him as surely as he hated hypodermic needles. Gibbs. He was the only one who could see what Tony was doing. But Tony kept on writing determinedly. Somehow he knew in his gut that this would all help Gibbs as much as it would help him.

With little happening case-wise other than catching up on reports and fielding inter-office memos and emails, Gibbs called the end of the work day at its normal hour of 17:00, something they rarely enjoyed. He stopped at Tony's desk on the way out and waited for the younger man to acknowledge him.

"Yes, Boss." DiNozzo responded to his presence without looking up from shutting down his computer.

"What happened in the head this morning – shouldn't have. None of my business what you do in your off-time. None of McGee's business to think it's okay to betray a confidence, even if you didn't tell him not to. He knows better. Just being juvenile, even though he thinks you're the only one who behaves that way."

"Now you see my reason for doing what I'm doing. Can't go to him with anything deeper than the fact I'm taking the bus into work, he can't wait to sink his teeth into my soft underbelly and then invite the rest of the pack for lunch. Just the way it's always been, Boss. Don't think he even realizes he's doing it, just habit for him after me picking on him for so many years. That and his never-ending need to make me look bad in your eyes, but again, yet another reason for needing outside intervention."

"I haven't been much help to you the past few years, either, I guess."

Tony turned and looked the man in the eye. He needed to be able to say these things face to face with Gibbs. He kept his voice quiet when he answered.

"I know you're wanting me to say, _'hell no, Boss, whenever I've really needed you you've come through for me', _but I'm not gonna lie or even stretch the truth about that stuff anymore. Truth is, no, you _haven't_ been much help to me for stuff like that the past, well, like seven or eight years. You used to when – before we – lost Kate. Then it's like you just – shut down and shut me out. Then Mexico happened and well, the fall out from that summer has never really blown over for me. I just – stuffed it away, along with all the other shit that's gone on between us since then. I can't stuff it anymore, Boss.

If you can't listen to what I need to say, I need to say it to someone who can, and not a shrink. Someone who can relate to what I'm going through and give me some honest advice, not some head game crap about learning my place on a team and dealing with authority figures. I used to fall for that shit, but not anymore. And you know I think the world of you, Boss, but you just don't have it in you to give back what I need when it comes to the rubber hitting the road stuff. We can talk about cases, we can talk about women, we can talk about cars and boats. But I need more than that, have for a long time. And you and Tim just aren't there for me for that."

"You were the one who first called me a functional mute, DiNozzo." Gibbs countered a bit defensively.

"Yes, yes I was, and it was my bad for thinking that that would change; that would be like you thinking you could get me to shut up once I got used to you and the job. Just the way we're wired. I just wasn't counting on being so isolated from my frat buddies – they've mostly moved on, gotten married, have kids now – don't have the time they used to to care and share. 'Bout the only one outside of work I have to talk to is – well, the – well, lots of people, just not someone who understands my job and my – the things I've been through. And when I've tried to get serious and talk about serious stuff with you guys – well, you tune me out or yell at me, and McGee either makes fun of me or uses it as a weapon against me."

"He doesn't know what to do when you go off sides. He counts on you to be a straight shot into the end zone."

"See, that's the thing. You guys want me to change but you really don't. But maybe it depends on the day. Thing is, I can't tell anymore, and I don't care anymore. I've given a hundred and ten percent to this team since day one. There have been times when I know I've crossed the line sometimes with my pranks and hazing, but I never went for the jugular, I never – did anything out of just plain meanness or spite, like Kate and Abby with that photo shopped gay picture they were gonna blackmail me with."

"Christ, Tony, that was what, eight, nine years ago or more and you still haven't let that go?"

"Yeah. Funny thing, that. McGee still rakes me over the coals for a time when I told some of the gals he was gay. Reminds me of every damned thing I ever did to him, I'm pretty sure he has them cataloged on a disk somewhere. Even used some in his novels. Ziva never let me forget that I wasn't you, or Mossad, or anything other than a glorified cop. And yet whenever I brought up anything hurtful they'd said, or done, they were all over me like flies on cowshit for being a whiny bitch. You see, if I change, if I behave like who I'm supposed to be, who I really _am – _it pisses people off cause they don't have any ammunition to use against me anymore. I'm playing fair, and you guys just can't handle it, 'cause then _you _all have to play fair, too. You like me better when I'm an idiot 'cause that makes you all look that much better and it's not so hard getting your digs in. Correct me if I'm wrong. And it's not just you and McGee, or Ziva when she was here. It's anyone who deals with me at work anymore – Toothpick, Sacks, the list goes on."

"You started it, DiNozzo. You came to us like this, all smart mouth and yabba, it was your schtick."

"Keyword, there, Boss. Was. My schtick. McGee came to us stuttering and puking and shaking in his shoes when you looked at him wrong. He worked hard and learned and took some hits and he's not a probie anymore, and no one expects him to act like one. So why does everyone expect me to keep acting like the guy I was ten years ago? I may like to have some fun, lighten the mood, but that doesn't mean I can't be serious about my job, or that I'm so self-absorbed I don't know what's going on with the people around me. And just because I join a men's support group doesn't make me weak, or a whiner. I don't want to stay how I am, Boss. It may be a comfort zone for you guys, but for me it's a rut. A big, freaking pothole. And there've been too many changes and too much shit dumped on my head in my life to just sit around and do nothing. I can't do role-playing games every night on my computer like McGee, and I can't hide out in my basement every night with booze and woodworking. It just doesn't work for me. With the support group guys I can play basketball and poker and pool, or not do anything, just sit around and talk. There are other cops there, other feds, guys from all sorts of backgrounds.

"I like it, Boss. It's better than therapy, and it's free. And even though the entire world probably knows by now that I joined, thanks to McMotormouth, it's still nobody's business, not even yours. And I won't let either one of you, or anyone else, try to make me feel less of a man for going. I'm not strong enough to keep holding the world on my shoulders, I admit it. That old saying about what doesn't kill you makes you stronger is a load of crap, it makes you bitter and brittle. And knowing that doesn't make me weak. It just means I realized I don't have to carry it all by myself anymore."

Tony picked up his back pack and swung it over his shoulder, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair with his other hand while Gibbs waited for him. He wasn't sure what the man was going to say, but he couldn't change the way his boss thought of him, and he was exhausted from trying.

"See you in the morning, Boss. Have a good night."

"Tony.."

Gibbs' voice held enough softness in it to entice Tony to stop and turn around to answer the man.

"Yeah, Boss?"

"I wish I could be what you want me to be – what you need me to be. You know better than anybody that I have a hard time just being around myself – I don't have the answers you're looking for, if I did, I wouldn't have paid alimony to three different wives. I've learned to just make the best of my life by being the best I can be at my job, anything outside of that is a bonus. That doesn't mean you don't rate, it just means I'm lousy at being a friend, and for that, I'm sorry. So don't ever think I wouldn't go to the ends of the earth for you, cause I would. You're family, just like Abby, and Ziva, and Tim. I know I haven't made it easy for you being my SFA, and I've let too many things go unsaid that I shouldn't have, regardless of being a functional mute. But you know I've got your six, even though I've done some stupid things that might make you think otherwise. I'm glad you found a way to deal. Maybe if I'd done something like that years back I wouldn't have screwed up my life so bad. Guess we'll never know now. Anyways, I won't rag on you about it, and I'll make sure no one else does, either, including McGee. Hell, it wouldn't hurt_ him _to get out from behind his damned computer for a while and try something new. Have a good night, DiNozzo."

Gibbs turned to walk away, but not before catching the cheeky grin on his second's face.

"Now what?"

"Nothing. Just thinking that that's more than you've said to me in one go since I've known you. And that we've just spent ten minutes talking about stuff that you just said you didn't have the answers for. They were pretty good answers, Boss. Thanks. I'll take what I can get when I can get it. See you in the morning."

They left the bullpen side by side, both a little sad, and yet happy to have some resolution, even if it wasn't really. It was the best they could do for now and it would have to do for both of them.


End file.
